The Coral Garden
by twentyfourth and vine
Summary: It's late, lights blaze with music and the beat is relentless. For one girl and one boy, this isn't just another party. In the whisper silk dark, everything changes. Do you search for your destiny or does it find you? Do you choose love or are you chosen?
1. Chapter 1

**the coral garden**

**- 1 -**

you floated on gossamer gravity insufficient to hold you to the floor, yet its veil overhead enough to save you from the ceiling

as you curved around the music and passed a stranger

who smiled

so you tarried for a while and a dance that became several and seamless

he tried to speak but it was very loud around and even taking your waist in his hands to steady you both, and putting his face to your ear, you didn't know what he was saying

you moved his hands away though and he smiled more and watched you smile more and watch him

and you both noticed the strap of your singlet top slipping precariously from your shoulder

but he was the one who saw nothing beneath but pearl and alabaster

he tried to help but the strap slid further, not returning to its intended dip alongside your neck

that pearl and alabaster was caught in the net of his gaze until he blinked eyes up to your face flushed warm

then you sang shiny bright things and he dipped his head closer, his hands light on your upper arms, eyes asking what was that you said?

you sang silver shimmering things and he searched to find the source of them

in your mouth

this didn't happen ordinarily, or ever

never

he wasn't your boyfriend, not your friend

you didn't even know him but his tongue was an explorer, getting to know you

as you were drifting backwards he was following, or is it even considered following when he is attached to you?

the wall found your back your back found the wall

and he stepped closer

waves of heat and sound light and color breath and motion perspiration

with kisses becoming deeper

he discovered sounds down there in the soft channel of your throat, liberated them, and muffled, they took flight

then the cup of his hand, hotter than the air and damper too, over fabric not thin enough or thick enough covering your chest

so he went inside and you didn't stop him

in fact you took his other hand to put it there too

a pair of hands, a pair of breasts, perfect

he whispered the word and others more as he took another step

not that there was anywhere to go but into your hips

and you were locked together tight

the music made what happened happen, issuing its directive, compelling your sway

and what girl has ever behaved like this before or since, allowing a boy-man she's barely met and never spoken to, to be the first to lift her skirt? to slide his fingers somewhere that belonged to her and her alone?

it's a harbor in there of sorts, though not somewhere that could be termed safe

and a wayfarer had better not arrive weary, for the wayfarer brings a storm to churn and roil, that could last less than a minute or more than an hour before its subsidence bestows his and yours

this boy had one hand in the coral garden and dropped the other from your breast to fumble with his belt and then his buttons

as you kissed him ardently

when you'd thought about this event taking place in some hazy future, entrance to you would not be granted without a passport of conversations over unspecified time, containing a full name at the very least, along with date of birth, probably occupation, and ideally a clean bill of health, amongst other information

yet you invited him in without any of that

he didn't leave his manners where you left your caution

he didn't let go of sweetness where you let go of inhibitions

he licked and loved you, painted your throat with his tongue, murmured what must have been endearments and gratitude as he negotiated the narrow inlet, as he stroked and caressed you inside and out

there was pain but it was dimly registered

you were both of you in your body and not, observing and experiencing

you marveled at the strength of his arms supporting you, the want in him as he moved, the effort on his face

and you were exhilarated when his mouth fell open and his body stopped

he only just made it out in time, gasping and splashing your lower belly with warm milky liquid, curling his tongue around your ear and laughing softly with apology and after-pleasure

he peeled his t-shirt off to wipe you, still smiling silly with being so pleased and it looked as if he liked you when he bit his lip and did his pants up and growled deep, pressing to you again and wanting your neck

but people started to shout, everything became suddenly chaotic

something to do with neighbors calling the police about noise, about alleged drunken behavior, about possible consumption of illegal substances

the protectors of the community were arriving to do their job

and a stampede ensued

he took your hand, the taker of your virginity, a twist of his head indicating the door

would you go with him?

you'd better

but in the melee he was torn away

you made it home without your panties and clutching a Nirvana shirt sticky with semen, nursing a soreness between your legs, and an inability to sleep

when you asked around over the next few days nobody knew who he was, since a lot of people had turned up from elsewhere and returned there

tall, dark hair, pale skin, intense eyes - there's not a lot you could say about what he looked like

although you could be very detailed as to what he _felt_ like

the guy in the Nevermind t-shirt?

nobody knew

and you haven't seen him since


	2. Chapter 2

**the coral garden**

**- 2 -**

He was visiting a friend from college over the long weekend. This was a part of the country he'd never been in before, and he found he liked it. Liked the cooler temperature than he was used to. Liked the feeling of being uncrowded. Liked so many trees around and in the environs.

Through some tenuous chain of connections they'd heard about a party on Saturday night, an hour's drive away, although out of the group of six of them planning to go, no-one knew who was holding the party. Didn't matter. There'd be music and alcohol and girls, which was all that mattered, really.

The guys all assembled at the home of the friend he was staying with. One of them offered to make tea for everyone, to general laughter. He didn't know what was funny, until he saw the mushrooms.

Another of the group solemnly swore that it was his turn to play minder tonight, that he wouldn't drink tea or beer, and that he'd stay safe to drive. The rest took the cups that were handed around ten minutes later, gulping down the contents quickly.

The new boy, the out-of-towner, sipped at his, pretending to have consumed it all and then moving to the sink to pour more than half of it away. He didn't want to be completely fucked up with strangers in a strange place, although a little buzz would be nice.

Half an hour later the buzz kicked in and he laughed along with everyone else, singing, laughing, joining in. Having fun.

The house that they arrived at was overflowing, people spilling out of the doors and music spilling out of the windows. Most of the furniture had been cleared out. Different rooms had different lighting - strobes, lasers, disco lights, strings of golden stars and blue moons and crimson love-hearts.

He wandered. Watched. Listened. Alternated between restless and relaxed. Danced alone with closed eyes, sat on the floor feeling the bass through the floorboards. Found places quiet enough to talk to a few people, stood under wall-mounted speakers with music a halo. Leaned against a doorjamb and breathed.

There was a girl. A lot of girls, but one in particular. Huge dark eyes. Huge. Maybe it was the tea, but those eyes looked deeper than - than anything. She was borne aloft on song with skin a thousand colors under rainbow beams, and living, elastic hair. He wondered if the shades on her went all the way in, to the bone. An orthopedic surgeon could find out, though heaven forbid she should ever have need of the services of one. Kaleidoscope creature? Ribs of vermilion and turquoise with tangerine scapulas and heliotrope for clavicles. She had infinity in her eyes. Occipital infinity. He was fascinated, finding her and losing her, again and again.

His friends gathered and took him aside, offering weed. He didn't want any. He was gently fried already, but he could see straight. He wasn't hallucinating, or giggling, like these dudes were. Thank fuck someone had been sensible enough to pledge himself as the DSP.

Back inside he drank water and and looked for her. The girl with hair like a shadow cast on her shoulders and back was standing in the hall waiting for the bathroom. To talk or not to talk? He didn't.

He was studying edaphology. Her eyes and her hair were like soil to him - something of unsurpassable wonder. But as an opener, telling a lovely girl her eyes reminded him of dirt was in no way going to impress. And then if he waxed lyrical about all that dirt meant to him - he didn't trust himself. So he didn't speak.

But soon after he was in another of the rooms, relentless music driving relentless heart driving relentless blood, and she brushed past him. Her soft shoulder didn't touch him at all, but it might as well have. He felt the lightning.

Instead of continuing on her weaving trajectory she spun back to him and his smile came up from inside like he'd swallowed a lantern. If she hadn't noticed him before she noticed him then, and stayed to sway. Graceful as a waterlily, she pivoted and pirouetted, unanchored, and he danced too, never taking his eyes off her. She was so responsive, so instinctual, such a being of earth in the now that he wanted to call her dryad, so he reached for her waist, his mouth leaning towards her ear.

She couldn't hear him, or maybe she could, but she took his wrists and removed his hands. Oh, lovely. He'd already known she wasn't trying to entice him. Her body hadn't come anywhere his even with the insistency of the 120 bpms to coax people's pelvises into alignment. He smiled again watching her freedom, and how she smiled all around him. He felt it like warmth.

During the beat and the pounding though, as she twirled the thin, slender strap of her top started to slither down her arm and he put out his fingertips to slide it back up. There was no bra strap beneath it. He'd been so transfixed by her eyes and hair and motion he hadn't noticed her breasts, but now one was half-exposed. Creamy translucent skin took his attention and held it way longer than was polite, but when he managed to look up to her face again she didn't appear offended. Her eyes had gotten bigger.

Now she spoke, impossibly. He leaned in, trying to catch her voice, holding her arms lightly, because he wasn't going to make the mistake of her waist again. Her words were unintelligible. Closer, closer, and he still couldn't hear. She didn't back away. Closer, and the gap between them disappeared. He wasn't sure how his mouth had come into contact with hers, but she was kissing him immediately. Or had he started it?

Time was suspended as he learned the language written on her tongue. She had a magic way of moving, a magnetic way that took them both to a corner without unlinking them and kept them there, though the lights barely followed. And her breast! Sliding a hand under the hem of her top he discovered her to be smooth and soft and heated, like living porcelain. Pliant too. She found him just as pliant when she took his other hand and pulled it to her.

He was inside minutes later, though he hadn't intended a seduction when first they danced. Completion didn't enter his thoughts until that magic way of hers drew him in. The newness of her and the sharpness of the angle made him gasp, and then everything made him gasp - her neck in his mouth, her scent, the murmurs he felt more than heard. With her infinity eyes on him he took things as slowly as he could, kissing as he went, speaking his wonder. When he finished he was breathless, and the happiest he'd ever been.

Glistening tiny rivulets rolled down her abdomen into curls surely the same glorious shade as her hair, for him to dab away with his shirt. Now he should take her somewhere and talk properly and love her again once they'd exchanged words.

But there was a quick havoc descending, and party guests were fleeing. His friends called urgently for him. Holding her hand, he made for the door only to feel within a few steps that her hand was lost. He couldn't see her. The tide swept him out and his friends pulled him to the car, despite protests. He had no idea how he'd let her go, or where she was.

The friend he was staying with laughed that he'd lost his shirt, but shrugged about a girl with long hair. Lots of girls have long hair, after all.

The next day he was on a plane, leaving.

Reluctantly.


	3. Chapter 3

**the coral garden**

**- 3 - **

"So, have we reached that stage of our relationship yet where we ask about one another's dating histories?" Alistair murmured.

We're having a relationship? Bella wondered. She supposed they were. Building up to one, at any rate. There'd been several dates, several kisses, some grappling in his car and some grappling at her doorstep, factors which when combined constituted all the hallmarks of a relationship in its beginning stages.

"Probably," she smiled. "You go first. Tell me everything."

"_Everything_?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, no. Just the absolute basics."

He began to describe a girl he'd adored, beautiful but perfidious, who'd declared eternal love and promised marriage, only to betray him by giving away a secret he'd entrusted her with.

"What was the secret?"

"That I still slept with my teddy bear."

"Wait a minute - how old were you when she was your girlfriend?"

"Seven. We were in second grade. It was very serious. She gave me my first kiss."

Bella considered. "Am I a better kisser than her?"

"You're fishing for compliments. But yes. Much."

Bella tested her rating on the kissing front and found that it still held.

"So, have you just had the one previous girlfriend, or were there more?" she asked.

Alistair began to list names - not too many of them, thankfully. At twenty-seven it was to be supposed he would have been with at least a few women.

"And then no-one for the last six months," he finished. "Until you."

They were at her apartment, ostensibly watching a movie but they'd barely glanced at the screen since hitting the play button. They were entangled on the couch, wine glasses within easy reach. Their bouts of conversation were taking place between unhurried makeout sessions.

"So," Bella said carefully. "No broken hearts?"

Alistair twisted a lock of her hair around his fingers. His blue eyes were serious, though he still smiled. He smiled a lot.

"Not yet," he answered. "Hopefully never. Guess it all depends on how things go, right?"

"Guess so."

"More wine?" he asked, leaning sideways to refill her glass and handing it to her. "It's your turn now, you know. How many boyfriends? Any broken hearts?"

And just like that Bella was rocketed to the past, to being seventeen, to her first sexual experience and to the devastation it had wreaked upon her. Oh, she'd had a broken heart all right. She hadn't thought about that night in years, deliberately. If the merest hint of it had crept uninvited to her consciousness it had been firmly ousted. Now she was an unwilling revisitor, and she didn't want the memories intruding. Not tonight, or any other night.

"A couple of boyfriends, a couple of flings," she said as casually as she could. "Peter, last year of high school. Jared, a holiday romance. Alec, my first two years at college. Michael, a friend of a friend I only dated for a few weeks."

"Four lovers, then," Alistair said.

No, if I was honest I'd say five - but I don't want to admit to an anonymous fuck six years ago at a party in the dark with someone I barely saw properly and never actually spoke to. Someone whose touch felt like the promise of everything I could ever want, someone who'd brought me to life with his mouth and fingers and dick - but more than that - even with his glance and his scent and his skin. Someone whose identity I couldn't hope to discover. Someone I couldn't allow myself to remember, because Alistair, if I start thinking about him, I'll stop thinking about you.

She was aware she'd probably built the whole thing up in her mind until it was blown out of all proportion. He couldn't have been that great. And anyway - what sort of guy dances with a girl drunk on atmosphere and high on music, and sticks his tongue down her throat before he's even said two words to her? Then gropes her tits? Then pushes her to the back of the room and bangs her against the wall? I _invited_ him, she thinks. Every step of the way. The kissing, the touching. And as for when they hit the wall - he didn't push - I pulled.

And after, the sheer sweetness of his affection took her breath away, what little she'd gotten back. And he'd tried to take her with him when he left. It wasn't his fault they were separated. He hadn't run away.

"Hey, where have you disappeared to?" Alistair's voice gently broke in, his lips just as gentle at her ear, fingertips nudging her jaw to bring her gaze around to him.

"You're suddenly far away. Al calling Bella. Come back to me."

Bella _was_ far away in one manner of speaking, though not geographically. The house she was in now mentally was in the same city as her apartment. But she was years away, hands on the shoulders of a tall man in a black t-shirt. She had one foot on the floor and other suspended, with his hand curled under the back of her thigh, holding her leg to his hip. She had to shake her head and blink him gone, looking for Alistair.

Maybe this is how divers feel, when they ascend after time in the deep, she thought. They have to come up slowly or they'll get sick. They could even die. Are they ever disappointed by the air? By the reality of the above after the rapture of the beneath?

Alistair was, by any definition of the term, ideal boyfriend material. Considerate, attentive, patient. Handsome but unassuming. Confident and capable. Affectionate. Well-mannered, well-read and well-qualified. He was a forest biologist, employed by the federal government to implement a program reintroducing native animals that had disappeared from the area due to habitat degradation. He'd called on all the veterinary practices in the city to invite all staff to a series of seminars on the rare animals, which was how Bella had met him. She'd been a veterinary technician for a couple of years now, loving the work, loving tending to sick creatures.

She and Alistair were complementary. And she was really, really tired of being alone. This could be a one-time thing, or a few weeks' worth of sex and company and fun, or it could be more. He was offering her more, she knew it. That's why he was waiting.

She took another sip of wine, and took the plunge.


	4. Chapter 4

**the coral garden**

**- 4 -**

Knowing what was coming up, Edward Cullen tensed, wishing himself a thousand miles away.

But, no. He was here. About to become a spectacle.

And the lights, having been momentarily dimmed, flashed on.

"Ladies, it's the moment you've been waiting for! Time to bid on our final bachelor in tonight's auction - the all-singing, all-dancing Edward! We'd like to thank Edward for generously offering a date-package for our fund-raiser tonight, and I'm opening the bidding at two hundred dollars. Do we have two hundred dollars?"

All-singing, all-dancing? Hardly. But earlier this evening when the compere, JJ, had read on his list of achievements that Edward could sing and play guitar, he'd insisted on a song.

"Go on - the ladies'll love it," JJ had urged. "They'll pay hundreds extra for golden tonsils. That'll mean more bells and whistles on the bike. Imagine the poor little kid's eyes lighting up."

Put like that, Edward could hardly refuse. The money from the auction was going towards an adaptive bicycle for the disabled child of a work colleague. So he'd performed a Bob Dylan cover, guitar on one knee, left hand wrapped around the neck and right hand caressing the strings. Almost drowned out by the carousing of the female-only audience, Edward had forced himself to remember the cause.

But it transpired that his impromptu musical interlude had shortened the interview time, meaning that he didn't have to answer the inflammatory questions that JJ had put to other bachelors. They'd been subjected to: What kind of woman turns you on? Do you tongue-kiss on the first date? Would you ever have sex with a woman the first time you take her out?

The auction participants had been required to put together a program for the date they were offering so that the ladies knew exactly what they were going to get for their money, and Edward had suggested an art gallery opening followed by dinner at a jazz venue. Hardly experiences to warrant such whistling and yahooing - but the incremental increases of a hundred dollars a bid seemed to whip the already enthusiastic audience to excesses of shouting.

There was a high likelihood the whole experience would be dismal, so he'd figured at a gallery he and his date could at least discuss what they were looking at, then over dinner they could listen to music and wouldn't have to talk too much. Then he'd see whoever it was home in a cab, dodge advances if she made any, and the ordeal would be over. The prospect of anything further happening with one of these drunken revellers was unlikely, since Edward Cullen wasn't looking for a good time. He wasn't looking for a girlfriend. He wasn't looking for anything.

The last girl he'd been seeing had broken things off between them, citing his detachment as the stumbling block to their association developing into something meaningful. She'd told him, "I just don't think I'm who you want," and he supposed she was right. After all, the girl before her had said the same thing. The previous girl wasn't one, she was many, blurred into a many-faced, many-named entity. He'd lost count. Ten months of his life had been sucked into a black hole of hookups and hangovers.

But that hadn't been meant to happen. He wasn't that kind of guy - the type who would take one look at a woman and be in her pants before she could say Jack Robinson. For God's sake, between the ages of twenty and twenty-two when any regular, able-bodied man with a pulse was either in love and loving it or in lust and loving it, Edward Cullen was taking a break. Not ploughing his way through every willing female on campus. Not enjoying dalliances with select though carefree girls. Not sharing bedspace and headspace with someone special.

Edward was undergoing therapy of his own devising which consisted of abstinence, observation, and repeated self-examination.

Prior to that he'd done something that had made him doubt everything he'd ever thought he knew about himself, and he could hardly bear it. The more he drew on his memory for clarification, the foggier the whole episode became, until he had no idea what the fuck had really happened that night, back then, with that girl. He'd coerced her, he hadn't coerced her. He'd taken advantage of her, she'd been willing. She'd initiated kissing, he'd initiated sex. She'd wanted to leave the party with him, she'd pulled her hand from his to remain behind in the shadows. Nothing was refutable or irrefutable in the aftermath of perception altered by psychotropic drugs, that was bad enough. Worse though was that no matter how deep he dug into his mind, he simply couldn't recover a clear picture of her face.

Sensory snapshots of the night continued to haunt him - the way she'd wound her hips against his and threaded her hands in his hair. The way her body had melted to his fingers and her breath had scorched his skin. He did remember, at least, that her eyes had spoken worlds. The next day he'd awoken with the slow realisation that in the pulsing dark, along with his mind he'd lost his heart.

He'd returned to college badly shaken, to spend weeks interrogating the friend he'd been visiting. You must know whose house it was. What was the address? Can't we look it up somewhere and find out who lives there? Next time you go home, you could drive over and knock on the door.

The friend had thrown up his hands in exasperation, Jesus man, what's with you? You met a girl but you didn't get her name? I'm sorry, I don't know how to find her again. Okay, already, I'll ask around.

The asking amounted to nothing and in the absence of progression, Edward retreated.

Two years of celibacy made him realize he was freezing women out, distancing himself even from friendships. He missed women, their company, their laughing, their voices. He needed to recommence contact with the other half of the human race before he became a complete oddball. But he was hugely, perhaps overly sensitive as to what constituted consent on the part of a woman when she was with a man. He developed a tendency to hang back and wait for girls to make their designs known, only to find to his dismay the more he hung back the more girls tended to make moves on him. Then he overcompensated and accepted offers he wasn't particularly interested in.

Easy sex was even more disenchanting than no sex.

But Edward wanted the experience of commitment to a girlfriend, so he sought someone clever enough and attractive enough, and he tried his best to be a boyfriend, despite his feelings of disconnection. Heidi left him for another lover after eighteen months. Following Heidi, Rebecca lasted a little longer, but admitted defeat and said she needed more from a man. He was sorry yet grateful to them both, feeling he was learning more about himself the more he saw himself in a woman's eyes.

And tonight, there were plenty of women's eyes on him. Other guys had taken their shirts off and posed, playing up their physicality, but Edward didn't want that sort of attention. One of these days, when the time was right, he did want to meet someone precious and special, but he doubted very much the person he would want above all others would be here now, throwing back champagne and waving her purse in the air, offering ridiculous amounts of money to have him take her out next Friday night.

The bidding closed at two thousand dollars, leaving his mind reeling though his smile stayed fixed. A six-foot glamazon with a cloud of red hair had bounded to the stage and triumphantly held up the promissory note.

"Well, hel_lo_ there, handsome. I'm Vicki," she'd purred.

Applause and cheering filled the room as Edward kissed her cheek, with nothing promissory about his lips on her skin.

But the next week when he'd arrived at the address he'd given him, she'd answered the door wearing what looked a lot like pajamas - loose, flowing pants in a silken leopard print with a matching, skimpy camisole.

"Ah - am I early?" he asked in confusion.

"Not at all," she tilted her head. "Come on in."

"We're going to an art gallery?" he said, staying right where he was.

"Oh, I guess I didn't really explain anything the other night," she answered, calling over her shoulder, "Honey! Edward's here."

Another woman appeared, this one shorter and of stocky build, with close-cropped dark hair.

"Pleased to meet you, Edward. I'm Sarah, Vicki's partner. Wow - she wasn't exaggerating when she described you," the second woman said, blatantly checking him out. "Tall, smart and handsome, huh? Two out of three straight up." She appeared to be dressed for bed as well.

"Vicki?" Edward began. "I'm not really sure what's going on here."

The redhead nodded. "Maybe I should have told you. The deal is, I wasn't actually bidding on you for myself. I bought the date package for my cousin. That's not any contravention of the rules, is it? She'll be downstairs any minute. Are you sure you won't come in while you wait?"

"Your cousin?" Edward was mystified now.

"Yeah. She's lovely. So sweet. You'll have a wonderful time. Oh, here she is at last."

A slender, pale girl with chocolate hair and coffee eyes approached the doorway to stand in front of the other two women, who slung arms around one another and regarded her with equal parts fondness and pride.

"Come on, darling," Vicki prompted, when the girl remained silent. "Say hello to Edward. Your _date_. Edward, this is Bella."

The girl glanced up at him, no expression whatsoever on her face, and turned her gaze back towards the two women watching her.

"Suck shit and die," she said.

Then she turned back to Edward. "So. Rentboy. You gonna show me your etchings?"


	5. Chapter 5

**the coral garden**

**- 5 -**

shooting star kaleidoscope beaming dreaming streaming over a boy she doesn't see with her eyes please please her fingertips trace stark cheekbones perfect high ridges and beneath roughness starting on skin prickled with the beginnings of a beard strong his arms holding lifting climbing ascending she flies flies with him

through soundless trees breathless wind stars rushing by weightless now graceful dancing the clouds warm

tossed on music like a heartbeat slow drugged and dragging insistent persistent throbbing relentless endless world without end

he's in her

they're up she's up she can feel beginning hear him know him ribs rise and fall throat vibrating to lips yes those fingers all the way inside through her skin she's peeled she's flayed opened so wide to him only her hair twined with his her limbs their limbs his wings they swim through air flip and spin she gasps he gasps holds her loves her loves her wild pleasure silver fast he jumps she leaps they touch the sky and fall like eagles no matter how they twist she's around him he's inside she can do it too get inside him

they make their own light their own heat they are fire in the absence of fire his eyes his eyes were they this color? this color with no name a jewel a gem a flower song mystery

urgent

blossoming warm blissful decadent slither and slide slip deeper and move move more hold hold

then at the height on the brink he begins to

dissolve no dissipate no fragment disperse disappear no no

a void right there dense opaque impenetrable

so cold cold dark alone in the without in the without where are you? don't leave me don't leave me don't go

"Bella? Baby? Sweetheart? I'm here. You're dreaming. You're safe."

Opening heavy eyes to the night around, Bella whimpered. The black despair was slow to lift, constricting her throat and obscuring her vision though she was aware of Alistair's voice and touch as he held her and whispered.

"Are you with me? Are you back? You're okay, Bella, I've got you. You're at home, you're with me."

Oh, God. She hadn't had one of those dreams in years. Alistair stroked her hair as she burrowed her face into his chest, seeking refuge, haven, reassurance. Her trembling wouldn't still.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

No.

"I'm a good nightmare counsellor. Really. I used to help my little sisters when they had bad dreams by telling them about super powers they could develop to overcome whatever was frightening them."

"Well - " where to start? Where indeed? The beginning hadn't been nightmarish at all, but it was the part she didn't want to talk about.

"Hey, I know something good was happening to start with. You were humping my leg," he said, to her mortification. "That's what woke me."

"Sorry," Bella mumbled.

"Hey. Any time."

He was still speaking softly into her hair.

"Who were you with?" he asked.

"I don't know," Bella answered honestly. "I couldn't see his face."

"I've got a dream rival? Guess I'll just have to handle that. But it went wrong, didn't it? You got really scared."

"I can't really describe it," Bella faltered. "It was all just - sort of emotions, flooding - darkness and emptiness and I felt abandoned. Without hope. I didn't know where I was and it was cold and totally black, like this awful wasteland, and I fell over and couldn't walk and I felt tiny, with the sensation that there was looming _nothingness_ all around - "

Alistair's arms tightened, though still gentle.

"You've got a light, beautiful," he said. "You'd just have to lie there and gather yourself, and when you stood up straight you'd be shining. You'd hold out your hands and they'd glow, and illuminate your surroundings, and you'd find a path. And your feet would strike sparks with every step and there would be stars in your hair and what seemed like a wasteland would be a winter landscape of quietness, with plenty of life and activity going on in small ways. Everything is a cycle. Where you lay in a barren place there was once a rainforest and before that an inland ocean. As you leave, flowers bloom in your wake. You may have felt hopeless but hope seeks renewal, doesn't it? There is always renewal, it's life's greatest strength. And Bella, whoever abandoned you in your dream - you can walk to me. Or call me, and I'll find you. You can trust me to always find you. Always."

Bella pulled back from his grasp, raised her head to stare. What was he saying? Was he talking about her dream? Or about their relationship?

After their first few dates, after the night she'd decided to put aside the past in favor of the future, Alistair had asked if she'd heard of the 90 day rule.

No - what's that?

You don't have sex with someone you're dating until you've been seeing them for 90 days.

She'd never waited that long. And where were those guys now? Gone. Did she mind? Mmm.

The waiting with Alistair had seemed pointless at first, but then she'd appreciated it. Most of their time together was spent talking. Making out had never gone below the waist - it hadn't really gone below the chin, apart from his hands brushing against her breasts as he'd wrapped his arms around her. By tacit mutual agreement their frequent kissing wasn't heated - more exploratory and sensual. The last couple of weeks they'd ended up in one another's beds once or twice, when they'd had wine with dinner and shouldn't be driving home.

But now. What was he saying? What had he said?

Three months, no sex, and neither of them had gotten bored and moved on. Tonight he was in her bed, kisses in her hair, legs around hers, chasing nightmares away. He hadn't been with a woman for six months before her, which meant that his dry spell was now three-quarters of a year. God. Bella put two and two together, and came up with five out of four. Ten out of nine. Alistair was here for her. _Her_. He wasn't going to leave the building once they'd done the deed.

He was talking about long term.

Bella's hand slipped to his cheek, his slipped to her waist. Kissing like this, lying down, was sailing in uncharted waters but her lips sought his regardless. Her tongue sought his. In no time at all, her hips sought his and he rolled back, bringing her with him, assenting to everything.

Twenty minutes later when she panted, "Oh, God, I want to come, but I can't come from fucking," he took her fingers and sucked on them before giving them back to her, glistening with saliva.

"Go on," he prompted, blue eyes aflame.

Oh. She'd never done this in front of anyone before. His hands were on her thighs, anchoring her down as he pushed up, his gaze alternately raking her and going completely blank. He was almost grimacing, head thrashing back into the pillow. He was beautiful and she wanted to come for him.

She plunged to the mattress, pulling him over her, spreading her legs, taking him in and doing what he'd asked for. Oh God.

When he felt the first shudder, the first clench, his eyes flew wide open and he cried out, then bowed his head, lost, surrendering. After he collapsed he tried to roll off, but she wouldn't let him.

"Not yet."

"Are you crying? Oh, Jesus."

And he stayed in, on and over, until prudence and sound judgement dictated that he move.

I think I love you, but I shouldn't say it, should I? I mean, people feel this way after good sex. Great sex. Fucking _incredible_ sex.

The words weren't said, though they slept in one another's arms both smiling.


	6. Chapter 6

**the coral garden**

**- 6 -**

"I want to make something perfectly clear straight away. I am not going to have sex with you. Whatsoever. At all. No kissing, no touching either."

Quite the announcement.

In the rear vision mirror the cab driver caught my eye, his eyebrows raised to his hairline.

"All right. Good. Fine," I told the girl sitting as far away from me as she could get, given we were side by side in the back of a car.

"Fine? You're okay with that?" she queried, disbelievingly.

"Very."

Her pale face scrunched into a scowl. "Is that so?"

"It is."

That pale face, pretty in an angular way, disappeared behind a sheet of dark hair as she shifted, presenting me with her shoulder, and directed her gaze through the window. The driver was still watching me instead of the road.

"And not that I care, but what the hell can you do that's worth two thousand dollars anyway? Does your dick shoot diamonds?"

I nearly laughed, but it wasn't really laughable, given her tone of voice.

"What I do, or I should say _did_ that was worth two thousand dollars was to take part in a fund raising event to help out the family of a child with cerebral palsy."

Her posture gave illustration to indifference and her shrug reiterated it.

"Oh yeah," she said.

"It's true, and easy enough to confirm. Why are you in such a bad mood?" I asked.

"Seriously? Because it's completely embarrassing and insulting to be set up with you, _Sparklejizz_, as though I can't find myself a date if I want one," she said.

"It's not a date, it's a night out. You've set your terms and I agree to them. Let's be civil to one another and try to have a pleasant evening," I said. "You could start by calling me Edward."

"Okay _Fred_," she said darkly. "What's your idea of pleasant?"

At least she was facing me now, stern and icy.

"We could both relax a little. Break into conversation," I offered. "Maybe start with an exchange of information."

"You mean like where did you grow up? Do you have brothers and sisters?"

"Sure. That sort of thing."

"That isn't exactly fascinating stuff to know about someone, Freddie. Here's a question - what do you have under your bed, and what does it say about you?"

Interesting. More than interesting. Intriguing. I pursed my lips while I thought about it, and then answered honestly. "Shadows, mostly. A little dust, but not much. It says that I don't have more possessions than I can fit in my closet and that I sweep. Here's my question - what are your five favorite words, and what do they say about _you_?"

Now it was her turn to look intrigued.

"Plum. Lamasery. Sanhedrin. Cockleshell. Mereweather," she replied airily.

"That was quick. They're seemingly unrelated. Your self-analysis?"

"Quick. And seemingly unrelated."

The driver's eyes were turned back to the road but I was regarding my companion. She was regarding me, and a cautious grin began in one corner of her mouth, spreading.

"Actually, I like the word pellucid as well. I've got your solemn oath about tonight?"

"Yes," I answered, an even more cautious grin beginning on my face.

"I'm not in a bad mood any more, then. I'm nice as pie," she claimed.

"Sweet and lovely is the description I was given. Shortly before you were very rude to your cousin."

"I'm only rude when I'm upset or pissed off. I'm neither of those now."

Since we appeared to have a truce I didn't ask any of the things I was really curious about, such as why she was so vehement about not having sex, even though I was glad to hear it. Relieved even. When I'd turned up at the house tonight and Vicki had answered the door in nightwear, with Sarah hot on her heels, I'd been worried I was expected to jump straight into a threesome. A few years ago that prospect would have been very inviting, but not any more and never again.

But Bella had no way of knowing that. And we had several hours to spend together.

"Are you an art lover?" I asked.

"I'm an art _expert_," she drawled, and in the gallery she proceeded to demonstrate her knowledge.

"Art is when a picture looks like what it's supposed to be. This, for instance. Midnight Sunflower. Frankly, it's perfection. This, however - New Moon Eclipse - is a clusterfuck of garbage. I can't _even_."

"You're a brat," I said, laughing.

"Oh - give me your critique then, please. It'll probably sound like insane mumblings after my authenticity."

She was smirking, I was smirking as we made our way around. We smirked through dinner as well. I found her hilarious, and unlike any girl I'd met before. The embargo we'd established on sex had been liberating and I almost felt like a kid again - how things had been before pubertal hormones kicked in. When girls could be friends. When every statement you or them could ever make wasn't laced with innuendo, or landmined with nuance.

I told her I was a scientist and she said, "Oh, how interesting. _Not._ I bet it doesn't pay well. You should be an escort after all - at two thousand g's a pop, you'd get big bucks for a different sort of big bang," and she wasn't coming on to me.

"I consider that an inappropriate thing to say," I answered, and it wasn't inviting more inappropriateness.

"Put it down to my polyphrenia. 77 different personalities inhabit my body," she shrugged, and all I could do was laugh at her.

Our food was finished, the band reached the end of their set, and the startling girl across the table from me had really shaken me up. Circumstances were dreadful and timing was a disaster. I should have met her months ago, or I shouldn't have met her yet.

"Bella?" I said softly, nervously, while our server hovered around, collecting the plates.

"Who? Huh?" Bella said.

The server constructed a monument worthy of Imhotep from his palm to the inside of his elbow as I struggled with what to say, and wished him gone.

"Fredmazing, you're all quiet. Do you need to pass wind?" Bella said.

"No. But I do have to tell you something. I like you."

"Sex-like?" she asked with a frown. "Because I don't sex-like you, no offence, just saying."

"Not sex-like, no. Friends-like," I said. "Are you comfortable with my saying that?"

"I guess. I kind of friends-like you too, really. But your hair's a bit dumb."

"Yours is really nice," I countered as the server proceeded to give my hair a very thorough, though silent evaluation. I irritably thought Bella and I were doomed to be listened to and checked out all night. There was still the cab ride home to endure. And worse, there was something else I had to let her know.

Outside, she was chattering - full of whimsy and irreverence, her hand hooked through my elbow as we walked. The prickly, pissed off girl from earlier this evening had disappeared.

We climbed into a cab, Bella directed the driver, and he stopped outside her house. I asked him to wait and I saw her to the door.

"Well, tonight was passable," she said. "Eventually. You're not bad."

"You're not bad, either. But - "

"But?"

I hesitated, reluctant to say the words.

"Jesus Fred, spill. Or by the saints, Mistress B will have to use ways and means to make you talk."

The porch light flickered. The crickets chirped. The night was gentle around us.

"I've really enjoyed our evening. I've had a great time with you," I began.

"Ditto."

"I'd like to be friends." Here it was. "But - well, the thing is, I'm about to leave town. I've got a job lined up interstate."

Bella's eyes darkened. They narrowed. "_What_?" she said.

"I'm going in a few days."

She closed off - I saw the whole process. Disbelief, anger, disappointment. Flipping her hair, she turned her back on me and put her key in the lock.

"Bella? I want to stay in touch. Will you visit me? I'll call you," I said urgently, meaning every word, feeling suddenly as lost as Hadley Hemingway's suitcase.

She was only there for a moment longer, silhouetted in the doorframe, white skin a blur and hair flickering around her as she spun to hiss at me.

"_Suck shit and die_."

Was she upset or pissed off? Both? And why?

I had Vicki's number. I'd call in the morning and get Bella's.

And find out.

.

.

.

Thanks. You know who.


	7. Chapter 7

**the coral garden**

**- 7 -**

Desire met and matched. Pleasure given and received, spiraling, hands full of slippery flesh and tongues seeking more. Alistair could lick her lips and suck her clit until she came in his mouth, then fuck her for an hour. Then cuddle and murmur for another hour, fingertips idly stroking until she fell asleep in the easy circle his arms made around her. He loved to cook, teasing her favorite dishes in words out of her, then helping them back in on the tines of a fork. He listened, he laughed. For the first time in years, Bella felt a contentment. She gained weight, gained curves.

"My boobs are bigger," she said in wonder, gazing at the mirror. "I need new bras."

"Let me buy them for you. I'll come when you try them on," Alistair said huskily, standing behind her. "I mean, I really think I will. In the changing room at the store."

Bella blushed. "I must have put on about ten pounds. God - my ass!"

"Mmm? Did you say something? I didn't really hear you, I'm so captivated by your _ass_."

"What am I going to wear today? I can't pull the zipper up on these jeans."

He growled into her neck, pushing aside the fabric of her shirt to nip at her.

"Don't wear anything," he said, turning her to face him, peeling the denim back down over her hips. She wriggled to facilitate the undressing; he sank to his knees.

"Go naked all the time. We can declare a nude republic." His voice was muffled as he kissed her through lace.

"We'd get cold..."

"We'll have our nude republic somewhere warm then."

She only just made it to work on time.

"Nothing like starting the day with a bang," her workmate Shelly remarked.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Bella stated, though her blush denied the negation.

"Oh, I think you _do_, Ms Smileyface. But you've got a nine-fifteen. Maybe you should check your shirt buttons before Mrs Witherdale gets here."

Fingers flying to her buttons, Bella discovered her shirt was indeed askew. She was making the necessary adjustments as their serial client, elderly Mrs Witherdale arrived with her cat James. There was nothing wrong with James beyond the Münchausen syndrome his human companion suffered on his behalf, but Bella was familiar with the two of them and what they needed.

"He's doing well, Mrs Witherdale, for a cat of his age and condition. I suggest you try him on rainwater - have you considered that before? Leave a couple of containers outside to collect it, and put that in his bowl instead of tap water. It should keep him _regular_, if you know what I mean. And half a multi-vitamin crushed into his food every other day will keep his teeth strong. There's no charge for today. You know we're always happy to see you. James's wellbeing is important to us. Pop by again if you have any concerns."

"One satisfied customer. You're so patient," Shelly said. "By the way, your _lovah_ is on the phone."

Bella cradled the handset between her ear and shoulder, clutching her clipboard and writing up Mrs Witherdale's notes.

"Yes?"

"Bella, I need to see you tonight. Something's come up."

She was about to tease when she realized how grave he sounded.

"Should I be worried?" she asked, already worrying.

"We'll talk about it this evening."

Arriving at her apartment, Alistair didn't waste any time.

"I received notification today that the Federal government is making budget cuts. Our project will only be funded for the next six months."

"Six months? But that's well under the initial commitment! And it isn't long enough to determine whether it's been successful or not."

Taut and disappointed, Alistair nodded. "That's right."

"So what will happen to the project?"

"It will be abandoned. It's a terrible waste, Bella, of resources, and of a lot of valuable work done by dedicated people."

"And what about you? You'll move to something else? A different project?"

"No. There aren't any vacancies. Most of the team I put together are losing their jobs because of the cuts. I'm losing mine. The University can no longer employ me."

Bella was shocked. "But - " the word hung as she floundered. "Maybe somewhere else in the department? In Forestry? Biology?"

"I'm too senior, Bella. Some of the staff are being transferred but there's nothing that's suitable for me."

"What about the private sector? Is anyone else working on this sort of thing?"

"Worldwide - plenty of people. Nationally - some. Right here - no-one. But Bella, preservation of threatened species gets media coverage and philanthropic interest. Different groups are starting up all the time. People in the field know me. The prospects of finding something good are high."

After he'd gone home, Bella worried more. Would Alistair be forced to leave the area? What would happen to them? What did he want to happen? What did she want? He called daily, tired with trying to get as much accomplished as possible before the program ended, and it was difficult broaching something they could have no foreknowledge of.

Their time together became subdued, except for moments deep in passion when their eyes brimmed with the unspoken. Bella thought she might burst.

"I hate this uncertainty!" she told Shelly.

"Is he applying for any jobs? Has he told you?"

"Not yet. I mean, yes he's told me. He hasn't heard of anything yet."

A few evenings later, the situation had changed.

Arriving on her doorstep with wine and a bag of groceries, Alistair looked more positive than he had in weeks, though cautiously.

"Are we celebrating?" Bella said, taking the wine. "Tell me!"

"Let me cook first, then we'll talk. Actually - kissing first, then food, then talk."

Kissing nearly turned into nothing but love for dinner, until Alistair exiled Bella to the other side of the table, well out of reach. He served fusilli puttanesca scattered with parmesan, spicy with hope, tangy with impatience, and Bella still had to wait as they shared the clearing up.

"_Well?_" she demanded on the couch, wrapping his legs with hers.

"Well. There are two things. Firstly - I've decided what I want to do for the next couple of years, and I've set it in motion."

"Did you get a new job?"

"Yes. More or less. It only happened today. Have you heard of Atlas lions?"

"Ah - no."

"They're a sub-species of lion which became extinct in the wild early last century. A few dozen were still living in various zoos around the world, and in circuses. About twenty years ago a billionaire by the name of Jason Jenks started up a facility in Oregon, employing geneticists and zoologists to try and replenish the Atlas population using dna from the few that are known to still exist. I've visited the place several times, because I've been fascinated by Atlas lions since reading about them as a kid."

Oregon. Lions.

"O-kaaayy," Bella said, as Alistair took a deep breath.

"Well, today I spoke to the biologist in charge, Dr Cheney, to ask if there are any employment opportunities going. The short answer is that there are no paid positions but they're always able to use volunteers. So - I volunteered."

"Pardon me? You're going to Oregon? To breed lions?"

Alistair laughed. "Sounds far-fetched, I know. Probably sounds a long way from what I'm qualified for and from where my experience lies. But it's not really. The desired end result is the regeneration of the species, and that's going to involve the release and integration of captive-bred animals into wilderness habitats. I plan to learn everything I can while I'm not being paid, then once any remunerated positions come up I'll be the best placed person to be considered."

Bella was stumped.

"How far away will you be?" she asked faintly, meaning _what about us?_

"Hey," he said softly. "The flight from here to there is less than an hour. Even adding in the driving time at both ends, the door-to-door trip is under two hours. And since I'm volunteering, how much time I want to put in and when is up to me. So that's something I want to negotiate with you."

"You can afford an unpaid job?"

He shrugged, hand on her knee now, warm and heavy. "Yeah, I can. I own my apartment outright, I'm debt-free, I write academic articles that bring in income, and every so often I speak at conventions or whatever, which pays very well. I'll be fine for money, Bella. And this isn't spur-of-the-moment, I've been thinking about it for years. The timing is perfect right now. I can be there Monday to Friday and spend weekends back here. Seeing you. If that's what you'd like."

Perfect timing? To be truthful, spending weekends together and not weeknights was already how they organized themselves, and it was going well. Really well. Bella slipped her hand underneath his, fingers curling around his palm, not sure how to react.

"I guess that brings me to the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. I said there were two. The other is - " he paused, blue eyes searching before he shuffled on the seat and drew back, just a little. Putting distance between them. "This is probably a bit early on in the piece, but I think the situation calls for it - and it's important. I'd like us to talk about our views on marriage."

Bella choked on her mouthful of tempranillo, spat it in red streams into her palms as Alistair leapt for the tissues.

"Gave you a fright?" he asked. "Sorry. This isn't a proposal, though it's useful to know how you'd react if I did ask you. I suppose I'd make sure you had nothing in your mouth beforehand."

Despite the joking he was genuinely concerned. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes," Bella said, wiping her face and hands, giving herself time to recover. "I just swallowed the wrong way. I'm okay. You can sit back down."

"You don't need mouth-to-mouth?"

"Not right now. Where were we?"

"Somewhere momentous. We both know what we have - what we're doing - it isn't casual - don't we?"

Rudely, Bella's phone interrupted, slicing the thick air, chirping like a cricket. Before she threw it out the window, she glanced at the screen.

"That's odd," she muttered. "A call from work at this time of night? I'd better take it."

Seconds later, she turned wide, startled eyes to Alistair.

"Shelly wants me to go in to the clinic. She says it's an emergency. She says there's been an accident."


	8. Chapter 8

**the coral garden**

**- 8 - **

The gallery? The restaurant? The cab? Edward couldn't for the life of him work out where he'd left his phone. The simplest thing was to go to the neighbor's, borrow theirs, and ring his own number.

"Fred, Victoriana wants to know if you're coming over for lunch," said the voice that answered.

"_What_? You pickpocketed my phone?" Edward asked incredulously.

"You left it lying around and I picked it up for you. And this is the thanks I get. By the way, I've gone through your contacts list and your history. You're seriously dull. And as for your music - get with this century already! Is one o'clock okay?"

Bella had hung up before Edward could gather himself enough to reply.

He really had no intention of staying for lunch but Vicki and Sarah took him by the hands and drew him inside.

"So nice to see you," Vicki said.

"So soon," Sarah added.

"Where's Bella?" he asked, meaning _where's my phone?_

"Oh, she'll be down in her own sweet time. Aperitif?" Vicki smiled, pressing a glass into his hand. "Organic," she added quickly, though his chief concern was whether the contents were alcoholic.

"Home-made lime and elderflower cordial," Sarah assured him. "Come and see the garden. You're a soil scientist? This place was fully concreted when we bought it, and so we're experimenting with aeroponics. We haven't brought in any soil. You'll probably find us blasphemous."

As easily as he'd been drawn inside he was drawn through french doors to an outside, to a stern yard softened by tumbling foliage. Leaves, flowers, vines, blossoms climbed over frames to splash riotous color over the concrete grey.

"You did this?" he asked them, witches both, with their green eyes. He was impressed with the garden, but where was Bella?

"I'll check," Sarah offered, mindreading. "Lunch in ten?" leaving him with Vicki.

"We're a little surprised to see you," Vicki admitted immediately. "But then, Bella was in a good mood when she got home last night - so, how did things go?"

"Fine. Fun. She's unpredictable but endearing," Edward said. "Are you pumping irrigation to these vertical stands or do you water manually?"

"Manually. Unpredictable and endearing? Edward, it's so lovely that you've come to see Bella again today."

"She stole my phone," he answered.

Vicki blinked. "She _what_? I'm sorry. So, I guess that means you're not actually here to visit."

Edward back-pedaled. "Yes, I am. I would have wanted to see Bella again, anyway. I had a great evening."

"You did? Really? I'm so pleased. Look, I know it's weird that I bought my cousin a date, so to speak, but there was no grand design or complicated agenda on my part. It was a spur of the moment thing, me bidding on someone at that auction. All those guys were parading themselves, stripping off, enjoying the audience reaction and seeing the whole thing as a ticket to getting laid but I could see that you weren't thinking along those lines at all. You looked decent. And I thought it was interesting that you're a scientist and a musician. Bella's highly intelligent, as you would have realized. She can be prickly but she's a very good person. I worry though, because she doesn't socialize whatsoever and I just wanted her to have a night out and some invigorating conversation and some fun. I can't tell you how nice it is that you're here now."

Uncertain as to an appropriate response, Edward nodded.

"Did she tell you anything about her background?" Vicki queried.

"No, nothing. Well, she said her parents separated when she was young, that's all."

"Oh. Ah. Shall we see if lunch is ready?"

Hungry, and a little uncomfortable despite the fascination of the vertical stands, Edward followed Vicki inside to find Bella spinning crazily around the living room yelling, "I LOVE IT - I DON'T CARE!" while filming and recording herself. On his phone. When she saw him she stopped, looking abashed, though he suspected she was pretending.

"Oh, Fred, I'm sorry," she said. "I hope you don't mind, but I'm having so much fun with this karaoke app I found. I've never heard myself sing before. Do you want me to delete the footage? I don't know how to. Perhaps I could drop your cell into the fish bowl."

Edward snorted. "Just try it - I'll drop _you_ into the fish bowl," he said, missing the glance that passed between Vicki and Sarah.

Over lunch Bella pronounced him lame, tasteless, and unkempt. He nodded smoothly at her evaluation, unperturbed. She folded her serviette into a paper plane to throw at him and he handed her his, and while she was busy with it he ate from her plate. She scowled, he smirked. More glances passed between Vicki and Sarah.

"You know, a lot of people find Bella somewhat - _challenging_," Sarah confided in the kitchen, as he helped her load the dishwasher.

"I can see why," he responded.

"You know, she's quite - _individual_ - ," Sarah continued.

Edward faced her squarely. "Yes, she is. I like it."

"Oh. Well, she seems to have taken to you. And you seem to be - well, someone who would be a good friend for her. We're glad, that's all, Vicki and I."

"I'm glad too."

"She's much better with animals and children than she is with adults, to tell you the truth," Sarah added, and Edward nodded mutely, finding that this exchange, like the earlier talk he'd had in the garden with Vicki, was so cryptic he wondered if he was missing something.

"So, you see how it is - I live with the dragon lady and the serpent queen - a filigreed butterfly caught between two barnacles," Bella remarked at the door as he was leaving. "Sorry you can't stick around this afternoon. We're all going to put on blindfolds and motorcycle helmets and play indoor hockey."

"I'm sorry too. But it wouldn't be fair. You'd have the advantage of being better acquainted with the furniture layout. And I really have to get on with my packing," he said, sincerely regretting that he had a lot to get through that afternoon. He'd already lost several hours, though he didn't begrudge them.

"Oh yes - your imminent departure," Bella sniffed, chagrined. "What's so good about interstate? Why are you even going? What's the stupid job? Can't you do it here? We have soil. Not in my house, I mean, but in this _state_ we have soil. Lots of it, lovely and _dirty_."

And he didn't want to tell her the reason he was leaving. It seemed insensitive and unrealistic.

"I'm going to be part of a research project to do with forests. Particular forests which are in Washington. Do you want to meet for coffee tomorrow? I can tell you about it then."

"I couldn't give a fuck, actually. Go and poke around underneath trees or whatever it is you'll be doing, and if you get a hideous rash don't start complaining to me. But I'll meet you for coffee. And cake. Are you offering cake?"

"Sure."

"Are you _promising_ cake?"

"If that's what it takes."

"Do I have your _ironclad_ guarantee of cake?"

Possibly some people might just consider this girl too offbeat, overly quirky, as Sarah had implied. Edward found her eccentric and refreshing and found himself wishing he didn't have so much to do. He'd rather have spent the afternoon enjoying her company and sharp, sharp tongue.

"Will my best intention to provide cake be enough?"

Bella sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes before going back inside, leaving him on the doorstep gazing after her, wondering what his life had come to. He was leaving because of a girl, but all of a sudden he was having second thoughts because of a girl.

Coffee and cake the next day, his books in boxes. She inveigled him into lunch the day after, and on the eve of his departure, dinner.

"Well, shit, Fred - you've got nothing to cook with, and no plates or cutlery. You're going to chow down on raw foodstuffs with your bare hands? Or are you going to eat out solo somewhere like a total sadsack? You'd better come to our house tonight," had been how she'd phrased the invitation.

Vicki and Sarah, tacitly, had expressed disappointment, dismay, disapproval, displeasure, on discovering that their beloved, awkward Bella's new friend was on the threshold of a disappearance.

"Well," Vicki hmphed, greeting him.

"Not so much," Sarah had muttered behind her.

"It's a matter of my career," he explained, partially lying and hating himself for it. "This new job is a very good opportunity for me." Followed by, "It's something I've really wanted for a few years now," which was more truthful.

Bella flicked food across the table at him with her fork, unchecked by the other two women, and kicked him underneath it. She served a delicious dessert she'd made herself, then went upstairs and didn't come back down. He returned to his cold, empty apartment in turmoil.

But a promise was a promise - and he'd made one to himself a long time ago.

And in the morning - a long drive ahead - he set out.

The journey was pleasant and uneventful, taking hours and hours to cross miles and miles to reach a new city, a new home, a new life.

His new apartment was spacious and comfortable.

His new job was everything he'd hoped for - the work stimulating and meaningful, his workmates professional and welcoming, his boss thorough, organized and committed.

Socially, his evenings quickly became a whirl of bars, restaurants, clubs. Every invitation was accepted. He was there to meet people, after all.

And random emails arrived, sometimes every few minutes, sometimes a couple of weeks apart, from unrecognized addresses. Some unsigned, some from 'The Prevailing Command' or 'Vilandomar Barenyith' or 'the farmer whose goat you resemble'. He knew they were from Bella by their bizarreness and their humor. Missing her was a twinge that surprised him, given how long he'd known her. He replied to every missive, his writings just as succinct or rambling, as fictional or factual as hers.

Busy - always busy, with meetings, writing reports, reading reports, discussing reports. Daily he needed to collect samples from designated sites for analysis back in the laboratory. This was his favorite aspect of his new life. Driving, walking, digging through cool, dark forest.

And one night he was on his way home from such an expedition when a sudden leaping shape in his headlights had him jamming on the brakes, swerving, skidding. There was a solid, heavy thump as he hit something. He leapt out of the car to find half in, half out of the lights' beam, a doe tossed and broken by the impact. She lay on the road all wrong, bones jutting, eyes mute and pained.

Stricken, he moved his car forwards a little, got out again and gently, gently shifted her a little, until he could hold her muzzle to the exhaust pipe. It was the worst thing he'd ever done and easily the noblest, holding her as she died.

She was heavy, as he dragged her to the side of the road, planning to ring the State Authority in the morning and advise them, when a flicker caught his eye. Trembling and curious, wanting its mother in the dim light, a fawn stood before him. Orphaned by his hand.

The night might be full of wolves or foxes, there were surely hazards abounding, and if the little creature survived the night the morning would only bring hunger.

Edward Cullen picked it up, trusting thing, and bundled it into his car, curling its spindly limbs so that it lay on the back set.

The coverage of the world wide web extended even to here, this tree-surrounded quiet - and he searched for and found a local vet. He made a call.

"Hello? I've run over a female deer and it's dead. There's a fawn - it's small and seems very young. Can I bring it in?"

_I love it I don't care by Icona Pop_


	9. Chapter 9

**the coral garden**

**- 9 -**

Sometimes animals needed overnight care. Sometimes observation. A fawn appearing to be about four weeks old would need both, after a thorough health check.

"Sorry I can't stay tonight Bell-bell, but I really can't," Shelly said.

The fawn, precarious on its fine furniture legs, gazed with unwary calm at Bella, who would be surprising it shortly with rubber gloves and a thermometer.

"I'll be all right. You head home. Oh - who brought it in?" Bella said.

"_Well!_ He wrote his name down. It's in the case notes - Callan or something. I wasn't really listening, I was _flustered,_ you know?"

"Yeah." Bella was finding a bottle and a teat, thinking she'd have to weigh the fawn before she prepared a formula feed for it, running through a mental checklist.

"I mean, you don't see a sight like that every day of the week!" Shelly said.

"No." Not many orphaned fawns, thank goodness.

A week later the fawn had been christened Stanley and Shelly was best friends with the Callan person.

"Cullen, Bella, _Cullen_," she said. "Edward Cullen. He's calling every couple of days to check on Stanley. That was humane of him to kill the doe the way he did, instead of leaving her there to suffer. And it took quite a presence of mind to think of a compassionate solution so quickly."

The story had been on high rotation and Bella could recite it.

After another week there was a second verse.

"Edward's been asking if there's anything he can do. And I mean, like what, for instance? Come over and take turns with the bottle feeds? Then I told him, you know, Stanley will be big enough to go to the deer park soon and Edward offered to take him. Well, that's very kind I said, but Stanley will have to travel under partial sedation and he'll need medical supervision. The refuge is about five hours away. Edward volunteered to be the driver if someone else looks after Stanley. So anyway, Bella - are you up for the trip?"

"Of course. That's fine," Bella said.

"Knock knock - is anybody home? Are you paying attention? I just said are you up for a five hour drive with Stanley and Edward? That's _one_ way, and it's another five hours back again."

"What?"

Bella had been lost in thought. Last night Alistair had announced his intention to leave more or less straight away. There was no-one for him to hand over to at the University, nothing to see through to the finish, no reason to linger.

"Babe, I'll see you just as often as I see you now, but I'll miss you more," he'd murmured, his mouth in her hair as she lay flat on her front beneath him. Just before he slid his hand underneath, just before he combined manual with shifting from neutral to drive.

"You know what your problem is - too much sex," Shelly broke in. "A road trip to the other end of the state will be just the thing for you, to get a bit of focus back. You'll have to stay overnight at the other end, and go without Mr Magic Dick. I'm booking you in, Swanee. Two weeks' time. Take note."

"Note. Booking. Two weeks. Mr Magic Dick? He'll be gone by then," Bella sighed.

A couple of days later, Shelly wanted to confirm.

"All set for your jaunt?" she said. "Edward's ready."

"Edward?"

"Stanley's mentor. I think it's a good idea."

"You think it's a good idea for me to hop into a car with a complete stranger for two days - not to mention having to spend a night in a hotel somewhere with him as well?"

"He's not a complete stranger. He and I have spoken so many times now we're practically family. And he was working with Alistair, which I've already mentioned to you, although you were in one of your post-coital clouds at the time. But ask Alistair about him if you like - get a character reference."

As it happened, Alistair had never mentioned any of his workmates, but through an intermittent phone line that evening he endorsed Edward.

"Bright, highly competent. Personable. One of the few people on my team who has managed to retain his position here. His field is the study of soil and the University considers they can't afford to shut down research into the abiotic component of the biome when it's so fundamental in terms of ecological integrity."

What was that in English? Roughly translated it meant: Edward Cullen is staying. Alistair isn't. A twinge of resentment pricked at Bella. Integral biome whatever.

Then Shelly was asking questions.

"You and Alistair - you're strong, right? Solid? The distance thing - it's going to be okay?"

"It's fine. We're fine. Everything's fine," Bella said, already missing him.

On the Saturday morning she was bright and early, preparing Stanley's bottle.

"Here you go, baby boy - hungry? Guess you've got a lot of growing up to do, not to mention pushing out some antlers soon. You're getting a surprise today, but it will be a nice one. A new home and lots of new friends."

Occupied in talking, she didn't hear the front door open or the footsteps across the office, or the thud as a bag dropped to the floor. The first she knew she wasn't alone was the sound of a throat clearing.

"Excuse me?" a voice asked.

Pony tail whipping, she threw her head up to see - good Lord, a very handsome man smiling at her legs.

Her blink of not knowing how to respond took forever.

"Oh, Jesus!" the apparition exclaimed, stepping closer. She automatically retreated, then followed his glance to the ground behind her. Stanley's anaesthetic had taken effect and he'd folded.

"What's wrong with him?" the man asked in horror.

Bella's brain caught up. "You must be Edward. I've sedated Stanley for the trip. I need to check his pulse and temperature, then we can load him into the truck and be on our way."

"Oh. Okay. Sure." He let out a breath he'd been holding. "Yes. I'm Edward. Pleased to meet you - ah - "

"Bella," Bella said.

He started, and then laughed, repeating, "Really? Bella? Can I do anything to help?"

"It's just Bella." Why 'really?' She could ponder on that during the drive, but for now, he was big, maybe six-two, and looked strong.

"Actually, yes. Could you - ?"

She indicated her bag and the kit she'd packed for Stanley, and Edward took them to the truck. Then she got him to lift the supine fawn into the container he'd be traveling in, and help her to load and secure it in the pickup.

"Shall I take the first shift, Just Bella?" he asked, holding his hand out for the keys.

The miles sped by as fast as the trees did; Stanley was calm and settled in the back, Bella calm and settled in the front. Edward was a confident and safe driver. Nice to talk to. And the views were pleasant in all directions.

Every hour they stopped for Bella to check their precious cargo, and Stanley was doing just fine.

"How did he get to be christened Stanley?" Edward enquired at one point.

"Apparently there was a baseball player years ago called Buck Stanley. Shelly loves nicknames and she loves to think she's funny. She is, actually."

"I've noticed. What does she call you?"

"Bell-bell. B-M-S, sometimes, for my initials. When she wants to make a point she says Ergo Virgo."

While Edward chuckled, Bella hoped he wouldn't ask what Shelly called _him_, because she really didn't want to have to answer Sex-on-legs or Kickstart-my-ovaries, both of which she now understood. If you liked tall, chiseled, lean men with bed hair, crinkly eyes and scruff on the jaw, Edward would be all over your top ten.

"I've spoken to her so often now I feel as though we're BFF's. I don't suppose she has any names for me?" he said.

Crap. "Um - when she heard you didn't lose your job after the funding cuts at the University she started calling you Deathless," she answered, congratulating herself for quick thinking.

"Ah yes, the end of the Native Animal Re-introduction program. That will affect you a little, no doubt. It's somewhat misdirected to shut it down halfway through - not to mention that dismissing so many good people is a real loss."

"Yeah, but they'll continue to do valuable work elsewhere. Alistair is with another project now, in Oregon."

"Alistair Faulkner? The program manager? You know him? Oh, you probably know most of the people in town. I only moved here six months ago so I'm still catching up. What's Alistair doing in Oregon? He was always very private and he didn't discuss anything that wasn't directly work-related, so I've got no idea."

So Alistair hadn't mentioned her to his colleagues. It occurred to Bella that he hadn't mentioned his colleagues to her, either.

"He's looking into a plan to regenerate a species of lions that became extinct in the wild towards the end of last century."

"The Atlas lion venture? I've heard about it. It's certainly ambitious, and groundbreaking too, from a scientific point of view, but there are a lot of animal species in the world facing extirpation right now. The billionaire who's financing the whole deal could make a real difference in helping endangered animals survive, rather than re-creating a creature that's disappeared."

Bella frowned. "Disappeared? There are thought to be Atlas lions in captivity. It's not like the thylacine."

"No, but isolating the genetic code and then cloning individuals using surrogates to host embryos represents an enormous investment of money and resources. There are any number of threatened species with populations at a critical level that could be saved with the kind of intervention that could be achieved with that level of support."

It was Bella's turn driving now, and her hands clenched on the wheel. Edward seemed to think Alistair was caught up in a vanity project, playing resurrectionist.

A change of subject might be in order, since Edward had presented a point of view which had validity, and warranted further thought.

"And how are you liking living here?" she asked without even attempting a segue.

"I like it a lot," Edward answered. "People are friendly, there's plenty to do, it's a very picturesque part of the world."

According to the GPS, their destination was mere minutes away. Edward was quiet and Bella felt awkward, felt the need to keep talking.

"Is there a Mrs Edward? Did you bring someone with you? Or leave someone at home pining?" she asked.

Green eyes turned. "No to all three questions, although people I've met here keep trying to set me up on dates, which is very well-meaning of them. Is there a Mr Bella?"

"Ah - yes."

He glanced at her left hand, ringless, and raised an eyebrow.

"Alistair Faulkner," she finished.

Whatever reply he might have made was lost as she found the turnoff, negotiated two sets of gates, and pulled up outside the administration centre of the wildlife sanctuary. Lethargic but otherwise well Stanley was borne away to begin his new life and his deliverers followed the highway back to town to find the hotel Shelly had booked for them.

"You must be here for the festival," the desk clerk nodded.

"Festival?" Edward queried.

"Our annual celebration. It's mega. Roads blocked off and dancing in the streets all night. Bonfires and music and food. A huge parade. I'm finishing early so I can party. There'll be no-one on the desk after, like, six o'clock."

"Right. Can you recommend somewhere in town for us to have dinner?" Edward asked.

"Eat on the street! Stalls, barbecues, it's going to be amazing. Don't forget your keys though. There won't be any staff around to let you in."

Bella and Edward exchanged glances. It was mid afternoon.

"You want to reconvene at, I don't know - say six or so - and check out this festival?" he asked.

Bella nodded gratefully. Since Alistair had left she'd slept poorly, and this morning she'd gotten up earlier than usual. Between now and six she could try for a sleep, or at least a rest.

They went to their separate rooms. By zero hour she'd had a couple of hours lying down followed by a long shower and a change of clothes, and was feeling refreshed and famished.

Edward was waiting in the foyer, damp but not shaven. Same jeans, same sweater, though with a different shirt's collar showing above the crew neck. He was the same height as Alistair, she thought randomly, standing next to him, accidentally and inappropriately and inadvertently noting the distance from her mouth to his. A tiptoe away.

Random thought banished, she took the invitation of his inclined head to go before him to the awaiting evening.

Clamorous music provided by the street parade assailed them and attempts at conversation proved futile. Agreement as to food was reached by nods. A passing salsa band had Bella tempted, urged, _compelled_ to attempt the moves, but though her hips could get the sexy sway, her feet were mutinous, trying to trip her. A frustrated glance at Edward showed him effortless and fluid, following the dance.

He grinned down at her, noting her lack of co-ordination, his hands reaching her waist to guide her through the steps. Jesus - the warmth of him! The grace, the sureness.

Bafflement meant that Bella let Edward touch her for a split second. Probably less, and she shifted his hands. He gave a sweet, rueful smile containing an apology, and neither of them mentioned it for the rest of the several hours they stayed out, winding down finally with fruit punch and fireworks at midnight.

Back at the hotel they arranged to meet for breakfast at eight.

"Thanks for today. I wouldn't have liked to drive all that way on my own," Bella told him. He seemed a little preoccupied, though watching her closely.

"No problems," he answered. There was a gap. "It was the least I could do." Another gap. "I hope Stanley will be happy."

For this trip, far from home and far from her current life or indeed her past life, Bella had dug out her favorite item of sleep wear. It was overlarge, shabby and faded, soft and shapeless from years of wearing and laundering. Since the advent of Alistair it had lain at the bottom of a drawer but tonight she slipped it on over flannel sleep pants, pulled the elastic tie out of her long hair which became instantly unruly, and brushed her teeth.

A quiet knock sounded at the door.

"Bella, it's Edward. I just wanted to - "

Halfway through his sentence she opened the door and faced him enquiringly.

"I - " he said, and stared. Her eyes, her chest. Her chest, her eyes.

His mouth dropped open, but without another word, he reeled away.


	10. Chapter 10

**the coral garden **

**- 10 -**

Conversations with Bella could be uplifting. They could be hilarious. They could take unexpected turns.

The last time Edward had rung she'd answered with, "Congratulations lucky caller - you've won a gorilla-gram."

When he told her the project he'd been hired for was closing down, she'd screeched, "You're coming back! Eddie Freddie, that's so cool! We can paint our toenails and do ikebana in sandals. I'll make your favorite sandwich. We'll climb trees and dance in the rain in front of mirrors. When do you get here?"

Oh, shit.

"The university want to keep me on. I'm staying."

There was no response and he hated to think she was disappointed. So he tried a change of subject.

"How's _your_ work going, then? You never tell me."

"Diversionary tactic much? Okay, I'll play your silly little game. I don't talk about work because periods of employment tend to be sporadic for me. In fact I lost a job this very day."

"What was it? And why did you lose it?"

"Usher in a cinema. I got fired for the usual dodgy reasons - poor attitude, poor timekeeping, blah blah. But I wanted to leave, anyway, because it was crap and I have ambition. I want to be an usher in a football stadium. "

"What? Wait - an usher? Why on earth are you doing that? Why don't you pursue a career doing something you're interested in?"

"I am, Freddo. I'm interested in ushering."

Conversations with Bella could be exasperating.

Getting home after the deer incident he dialed her, describing in halting tones what had happened. She'd been pleasant enough when she answered, but her mood plunged in a vertical decline.

Flatly, tonelessly, after his tale of woe she said, "You killed Bambi's mother."

The whole episode had been harrowing enough.

"No. Well - yes, but _fuck. _I didn't _mean_ to hit an animal. It was an _accident_. I'm upset and this has been a really bad night. Do you have anything to say that isn't heartless?"

"Why would I?" she replied.

Edward cut the call off, wandering to the sideboard where he kept whiskey. One shot burned. Hanging up had been immature, he knew it. The second shot warmed. Couldn't Bella have at least acknowledged his distress? The third slid smoothly and he sat on his couch in the dark, thinking nothing.

Fifteen minutes later his laptop pinged with an incoming email which he resolved to leave unread when he saw the sender's ID - 'a snowflake on the surface of the sun.'

There was only one person that could be. A fourth shot of whiskey made him reckless enough to open it.

_doe a deer a trembling deer stood paralyzed as a fender bit her soft haunch, knocking her lengthwise while wheel and weight and wheel delivered neural severance - down sink down soft girl and cry, try upright yourself though limbs won't hold but try you will. it is the mother's imperative, and you are a mother. your infant is near._

_nature, the bitch, doesn't care, smiting here, striking there._

_but _you_ care, deathbringer. _human_._

_owner, ruler, despoiler of the world - sprinkle poison in the fields to kill vermin, sell pretty rabbits and mice from pet shops, feed them pet food made from grain grown in the fields where the dead did die_

_how do we rationalize our irrationality? _

_we draw distinctions between orders of this earth's inhabitants - orders we've devised. we apply codes of conduct based on evaluations of these orders, calling our codes and our judgements "ethics", knowing ourselves merciful and just. we practice morality, we've invented it. and oh how we celebrate our intellects, our sentience a deserved privilege when the creatures we share with don't even know they're alive. we're the self-appointed determiners and bestowers of worthiness. clap your hands to kill a mosquito, stamp on la cucaracha. wrench a calf from a cow, rob her of milk, feast on veal, enjoy your cappuccino. overlooked deaths afford us the lives we take for granted. _

_but we love animals! we're kind to them!_

_when those that are useful to us experience obvious pain we can alleviate it for the sake of alleviating their suffering. certainly not for the sake of alleviating the guilt we bear for our crimes. we shoot the horse with the broken leg, broken because we made it race around a track for our entertainment. your purebred inbred dog has hip dysplasia? hydrotherapy and anti-inflamatories will keep it alive longer for your continued enjoyment of its company! so compassionate we are, so considerate. thoughtful. empathetic. so conscious of our conscience. what is a conscience but a pat on the back? we praise ourselves for our _humanity_. nature the bitch doesn't care._

_and when animals experience emotions, we_ feel_ them, we _know

_or perhaps emotions are a purely human fancy. anthropomorphism. more of our conceit. read the eyes of that creature! misery anguish loss despair. it could be that the newborn bleats at the loss of its dam because it's hungry. (there's still pathos in that) does the dam bleat at the loss of her newborn because her swollen teats hurt?_

_we're truly and surely the pinnacle of evolution with our intellect our science our knowledge our wisdom. our constructs our society, our concrete and our abstract. our complexity our communication our art our insight. our understanding. i think therefore i am. does that deny a tree? a sea? a mountain? a moon?_

_we are the prideful guardians of the compassion we use to congratulate ourselves. the possessors of the cognizance we alone recognize. for the not us - birth growth reproduction decline death. renewal ongoing but for the interruptions of cataclysms. for us the same though imbued with sublimity, divinity. meaning in everything. we are so important. we are so important._

_if one day the sky falls in, our tenuous tenure threatened - what of importance then? the sky might not acknowledge the superiority of mankind and may not owe fielty to the invented gods we've elevated ourselves with_

Oh Bella, _Christ_, Edward and the whiskey thought. You're a dark, dark girl. A troubled patchwork of poetry and nihilism. Unpredictable, perceptive, gloomy - and soft as a petal. Your entire brittle persona is a defence mechanism, although I don't know why you're your own fortress. I wish I could hold your hand right now.

In contrast, Shelly from the vet's clinic was a breeze of fresh air. She helped him to feel more positive. He asked what he could do to help with Stanley's recovery - _Stanley?_ - and volunteered to drive him across the state to a sanctuary.

On the appointed day, a young dark-haired woman was on her own at the clinic and seemed to be in charge. When she said her name was Bella he nearly choked.

"_Really?_ Bella?" There couldn't be two of them.

But this Bella, just Bella, lacked snark and derision. While certainly clever, she didn't appear volatile. She was even and pleasant.

He didn't notice when it happened, or how it happened that when they'd resumed after lunch and she'd taken over the driving - he became aware of her. _Aware_, in a way that snuck up on him. He found he'd been staring at her hand on the wheel, its slenderness and fine capability, and shifting his gaze he found himself locked at her forearm - its roundness, the pale of its encasing skin and the light down of hair. Since when was there anything particularly captivating about a woman's arm? He stole quick glances at her face and discovered she was a miracle, which he'd somehow escaped noticing thus far. Not merely beautiful, but something else, something more. He thought he could smell her. Not soap or shampoo or perfume, but something essential. Her _being_.

He was mildly insane, of course.

During his pertubation she was speaking to him and her voice pinged his nerves. She mentioned his ex-boss which irritated him beyond measure. He tried to concentrate, tried to follow her conversation, pronouncing his ex-boss more or less a dick without actually saying so, because he had a moral and intellectual disagreement with the expenditure of personnel and brainpower and finance on raising the dead when there were species to be saved.

She asked if he liked living in the town. He did, suddenly more than he had before today.

Then she asked if there was a Mrs Edward.

He couldn't possibly be married, because he'd been deeply in love for the past seven years with a girl whose name and whereabouts he didn't know. He told just Bella no, there wasn't. Numerous attempts by colleagues and acquaintances at matchmaking had failed due to his disinterest, but now her question threw him into confusion since his reaction to _her_ was a quiet, rumbling earthquake. He didn't understand it.

"Is there a Mr Bella?" he asked.

There was, and for fuck's sake, it was Alister Faulkner. _No_. Her answer activated a primitive response in him. He wanted a fist fight. Pistols at dawn. Edward the scientist, the thinker, wanted to best a rival, for reasons of passion and jealousy. This incomparable woman couldn't possibly wrap her arms, her lips, and worse, her thighs around anyone who wasn't _him_ - it was unthinkable. Not this woman. Not her and any other man - it didn't matter who. He'd kill them all, present himself to her victorious. Virile, on fire. Her only and hers alone.

Ridiculous.

Edward held himself together for Stanley's introduction to his new home, and then while they travelled to the hotel and checked in. Casual and friendly, he suggested they retire to their rooms - separately - and meet later. In his room he pondered his unanticipated and abrupt liberation from the enchantment of the girl from all those years ago. That spell, disallowing him to truly want or love, had finally broken. It was unfortunate that the woman who'd caught his eye was taken, but prospects now were surely looking up. He'd find someone. Love was no longer a chalice of bitter loss, but an elixir of possibility.

That's what he thought, mentally revisiting visual snapshots of his companion on the day's drive. Hand, wrist, forearm - his memory's gaze dropped from her elbow to her thigh and got no further. Her _thigh_, solid, real, the perfect, perfect size to wrap his hand around, fingers nudging the seams of the denim that might as well have been barbed wire. He tried to stop thinking because the more he thought, the more his attraction grew. He wanted to wrap his mouth around her, sink his teeth in. Cover her in his flesh, and himself in hers. What was going on with him? He was veering perilously close to being out of control. Wasn't he free? Or was his errant psyche swapping one unattainable obsession for another?

A cold shower didn't cool him enough and he could have imploded when he saw her in the foyer.

They went out into the festival. He felt like a storm. Was this how things were for his other Bella, with the hugeness of her spirit barely contained, almost more than her frame could accommodate?

At least there was music to soothe him, keep him in check, because four-four time is a regulation you can't contravene. It was so persuasive. He and Bella danced. When she missed steps he steadied her and that was when the arrow pierced him, straight and true. He wasn't sure quite what had happened, just that he'd taken her waist lightly and she'd removed his hands. Under flashing lights with music warm on their skin. He bit the inside of his cheek and smiled at her uncertainly.

After goodnight his mind whirled. He wanted her, desire hitting him hard. He conjured images of other women and couldn't find anyone who wasn't insipid, two-dimensional in comparison. This Bella could laugh, she could talk - _stop_, Edward. It's nothing to do with personality. The way he felt was inexplicable and inexpressible. He wanted to take her by the hips, pull her to him, bury himself in all of her and never, ever come up for air. But he'd pull her hair out of that ponytail first, let it cascade around them both. Her beautiful, rich, dark, warm, chocolate, fertile hair.

Her hair... _rich? warm? fertile?_

Like soil.

Jesus Christ.

Memory hammered him - a velvet night, movement and rhythm, a pale lustrous girl, the glimpse of a breast, the symphony of skin. The curve of a waist so alive and enticing under his fingers and her gentle refusal and removal of them. The heaven in her mouth and the forever further in, soft and low. It couldn't be possible. He'd come all this way to search for one person. He'd changed his life just to be in the state, the town where he'd met her. _Her_. The mysterious, uncapturable holder of his heart. This afternoon, he'd believed himself over her, thinking he'd fallen for someone else.

But what if he hadn't? Oh God. That thigh he couldn't drag his eyes from today - was it _her_ thigh that he'd pulled to his hip while he, while she, while they - ?

Edward stumbled along the hall to Bella's room, unsteady beneath the weight of what he wanted to ask her. _Do you remember me? Did you and I dance at a party and kiss moments after meeting, then make love minutes later fully-clothed against a wall in a room full of people? Was that you? I held you afterwards, I tried to keep holding you - but we were dragged apart. Was that you?_

He couldn't ask her such shocking questions.

Without knowing what he was going to say he knocked on the door. She opened it and stood with warm alive hair in a crescendo around her alabaster face, with chocolate loam eyes deeper than infinity, asking him politely, "Yes?"

She was wearing a Nevermind t-shirt.


	11. Chapter 11

**the coral garden **

**- 11 - **

Hotel beds being as comfortable as they are Bella slept like a princess without a pea. She waited downstairs and waited, and when Edward didn't arrive she ate bircher muesli followed by scrambled eggs, washed down with apple juice and milky coffee. Still she waited.

Five minutes before the breakfast room was due to close Edward appeared, rubbing his eyes, raking at his hair. He seemed ill at ease.

"Everything okay?" Bella asked.

"I didn't sleep well," was the terse answer.

Bella offered to take the first stint behind the wheel and they settled in to the pickup, Edward's head against the door, his eyes and mouth closed, yesterday's congeniality disappeared.

Out of consideration, she drove without the radio on. Didn't speak. Urged the vehicle over the damp dark miles of the way back, sparing occasional glances at Edward who had saved Stanley, who had chatted with Shelly, and who had danced with her, Bella, only last night. Lack of sleep clearly didn't suit him.

After an hour, he spoke. Abruptly.

"How long have you and Alistair been married?

Why would he have that impression? Oh, she'd said Alistair was Mr Bella.

"We're not," she corrected him.

"Engaged?"

She checked the rear vision mirror for non-existent traffic behind, didn't answer.

"Are you going to move to Oregon?"

"No plans to. It's not very far away, and I love my job."

"More than you love Alistair?"

Taken aback, Bella glanced over to see Edward's eyes fixed on her. Green of forest and ferns. Alistair's were the blue of unclouded sky, rarely seen in Washington.

"That's a little personal," she said lightly, punching the radio on.

"Sorry," he mumbled, not sounding it.

He seemed to drift off again, giving her time to think.

"Bella, this has been a few months - you and me, us," Alistair had said, departure's eve. "It's still new. Moving hundreds of miles away early on in a relationship isn't ideal - it's possibly reckless. _Probably_, although I hope not. I don't want to frighten you off by asking you for promises or by making any - but equally, I don't want to frighten you off by not saying anything. My going away is _not _my leaving you, or leaving what we have. I'm not interested in finding anyone in Oregon, and I certainly won't be looking. I want _you_, I'll miss you, I already think of you all the time. I hope you feel the same way. I'll see you as often as I can - can we just try this? Please? Actually, I do want one promise - I want you to be honest with me. If the long distance love affair isn't working for you, tell me straight away. Then - we'll consider options."

So no, she wasn't engaged. Alistair hadn't asked. And no, she wasn't moving to Oregon - he hadn't asked that either.

But he had said, "Bella, I believe whole-heartedly in love, and I've always wanted to get married. Preferably only once. And I want a family - however many kids my wife and I can cope with, and a verandah and a vegetable garden and a dog - as long as that's what my wife wants too, of course. And I want her and me to be sitting on our verandah when we're eighty, laughing at the grandkids and holding hands in the sunset, still in love and strong no matter what the world might have thrown at us. I'm absolutely crazy about you - _crazy_ - and I think the time apart will give me perspective. If the way I feel is what I think it is, this partial separation will strengthen the bond we share, not weaken it. And if that happens - for both of us - well, we'll know we've got the foundation for something lifelong."

In an Oregon state of mind, she nearly jumped out of her skin when Edward spoke again.

"What's your favorite Nirvana song?"

What - ? Her t-shirt, last night. His strange, wordless visit.

As it happened she didn't like Nirvana but she knew one album inside-out. Bleakness, savagery and self-hatred. She knew it ache for ache, had learnt it by broken heart, had been cut to the quick by the possibility that the boy who clothed himself in it might have found resonance in its sentiments. Yet even fearing for his emotional health the memory of his delight in her and him together had been assurance. Years ago.

"I don't know really. I guess I don't have one. When my friends got into the whole Nirvana thing I held off because of what happened to the singer. Then I finally did listen and I felt the power and the energy. But I couldn't really take it. It's so visceral it's wounding. After a while I found it too sad to listen to any more."

Edward bit a lip, frowning, seeming to consider her words. "You bought the t-shirt," he said finally.

No, I didn't.

They swapped places after lunch, Edward taking over the driving for the last two hours, still disinclined to speak. They parted at the clinic where he'd left his car, him proffering a stilted thankyou and goodbye. Along with a dark stare, apropos of nothing.

"How did it go on the weekend?" Shelly asked Monday merrily slightly sly.

"Fine. Mission accomplished."

"No problems?"

"None."

"No comments?"

She was digging, dying to hear Bella admit that Edward was handsome.

"Nice scenery on the interstate," Bella commented, eliciting a snort from her workmate.

The next weekend she visited Alistair, flying above clouds, crossing the state boundary for conversation, cuddling and lovemaking. To see what kept him from her.

Their reuniting at the airport overbalanced him, the way she hugged so hard, feet leaving the ground.

"Oh God, Bella, _God_," he groaned and laughed into her mouth, one arm around her back and the other around her backside.

"If we don't calm this down we'll fornicate in my car, and then get arrested. They'll put us in _separate cells_," he panted.

"Oh, no," she said, calming down.

In half an hour they were negotiating the system of fences and gates guarding the facility where Alistair had taken up residence.

"Security is paramount," he was explaining. "Given that there are highly dangerous animals here we've taken every precaution to ensure that they can't escape. And of course, we don't want intruders. No foolhardy adventurers thinking they can take a pot shot at a gazelle with a bb gun, or enact some ill-thought safari fantasy."

Before yet another fence there was a row of low buildings, and Alistair parked in front of one of them.

"Mostly the staff sleep in dormitories, with shared bathrooms and a communal kitchen but seeing as I'm having a conjugal visit I've been given my own cabin," he smiled, raising an eyebrow. "Are you tired after your flight? Would you like to lie down?"

People don't tend to get too tired cruising at low altitude for an hour. Bella knew exactly what he was saying.

"Yes, actually I would like to lie down," she answered, drawing him with her. A month apart had been long enough to make her need reminding how good he could make her feel. Surprising how long the reminding took - from late afternoon until dinnertime.

"I bought things we can cook," he said, walking naked to the kitchenette. Nice to be reminded how good he looked, too. When Bella tried to wriggle back into panties he shook his head, openly ogling.

"Uh-uh, baby. Remember our nude republic. No clothes unless it's cold. We won't get cold in here - it's a temperature-controlled environment. You're so beautiful. I've missed you. Do you want to lie down some more?"

"After dinner, definitely."

"What about during dinner? I could array you with sushi and eat off your belly. You could do the same to me."

"Wouldn't it tickle?"

"Yeah. Mmm."

They did throw t-shirts and underwear on for dinner, then chatted, sipping wine. She told him about taking Stanley to his refuge, mentioning that Edward had been friendly one day and remote the next.

"I don't know him outside of a work context," Alistair said, frowning. "I wouldn't have endorsed him if I'd thought he might be awkward."

"It was fine," Bella said.

"Stanley could have come here, you know. It _is_ a wildlife park," Alistair continued. "We have plenty of white-tails he could have run around with."

"Why didn't you say so?"

He grinned. "Well - if he lived here he'd probably be eaten. Death by lion. You might never have forgiven me."

Bella mock-gasped and swatted him, before asking how things were going, and that's when Alistair started _really_ talking.

And that's when Bella knew what was keeping him from her.

The place, the space, the land, the work, the resources, the science, the lions.

"What we're attempting is called interspecific pregnancy, where a compatible surrogate mother is implanted with cloned embryos. It's all looking very, very promising at this stage. We have three sub-Saharan lionesses, and we're lucky enough to have twenty frozen embryos with dna confirmed as Atlas by the International Species Classification Register. If we're successful in achieving live births, we're in an optimal environment for the cubs. Our lionesses have come from parks, not zoos, so they know how to hunt, and other than twenty-four seven surveillance we're planning minimal intervention. We're so close, Bella, so close to making this happen," he told her.

The next day, in an all-terrain vehicle, they drove out to see the lionesses. From a distance through binoculars.

"They're regal, aren't they? And so indolent. They sleep around twenty hours a day. Lions have a low kill rate when hunting which puzzled felinologists for decades, even while it was observed that when lions are awake and not hunting they're very playful. Current thinking is that a lot of what looks like hunting is actually just running around spooking gazelles for fun."

Even from far away they were lithe and unfathomable. Gold and supremely self-contained. Bella understood his dedication, his drive. Saw his commitment. Recognized his passion.

"They used to rule the world, Bella. Bigger lions than nowadays roamed America, Asia and Europe. The La Brea tar pits alone have yielded a hundred specimens. Fossils have been found in London, England. There were giant marsupial lions in Australia. Then about thirteen thousand years ago there was a mass extinction, and we've been unable to ascertain how or why it happened. But all this you see here - " Alistair paused to wave an arm, to indicate the wild vista dwarfing them, " - this was their domain. I want to give it back to them."

Back in the cabin he nudged her and said, "So. Baked fish for dinner. While I prepare it for the oven, tell me how your work's going. There must be funny stories about Shelly."

Work was very busy. There'd been a flash increase in pet ownership. Their boss might need to take on a partner.

"Your boss. You've spoken admiringly of him before. Something about his surgical technique," Alistair murmured. "You think he's good with his hands. I might be a little jealous."

Bella laughed. Her boss was more than twice her age, not to mention happily married.

"Perfect sutures are perfect," she teased.

"I'm very good with _my_ hands," Alistair said, demonstrating.

Back at home, at work, back in the life that had existed before Alistair and now existed away from Alistair, she realized she hadn't met any of his colleagues. He hadn't so much as mentioned any. Again. He hadn't met hers either, a fact Shelly kept bringing up.

"When's your Mane Man visiting next? Because we're all going out. _Out_, Bell-Bell, to a bar or a club or somewhere we can relax and chat. Just because I've spoken to him on the phone doesn't mean he exists. I need empirical evidence."

Alistair laughed when Bella told him, and agreed readily to a night out. He laughed when he met Shelly and charmed her socks off.

"Okay, I see why you kept him to yourself while you were cementing the relationship," Shelly said when he'd gone to the bathroom. "Because, damn. He is _fine_. If I'd met him first - "

"Am I missing anything?" Alistair said, sliding into his seat.

"Not according to Bella," Shelly said, deadpan, gaze and smirk sliding sideways before he could riposte. Shelly scoped the room while Bella examined a coaster closely and Alistair slipped a hand under the table to lie hot and high on Bella's leg.

"Hey - isn't that Edward? Edward Cullen? He should come and sit with us! We've got room," Shelly exclaimed, startling Bella into looking up.

Edward was indeed standing just inside the door. Shelly charged off and Bella smiled at Alistair.

"She's kind of unstoppable. Do you mind?"

"Not at all. He looks somewhat occupied, though."

Shelly made her way back to the table, dragging Edward along with her. He wasn't alone. A girl was at his side, and he had an arm slung protectively around her. Or was that affectionately? He was smiling at Shelly, bending down to catch something she said, when he noticed Bella. The smile faltered. It froze altogether when he saw Alistair beside her.

Whatever his problem was, it wasn't hers, so after a nod of recognition, she ignored him. Alistair rose to shake his hand and the two men fell to talking. The girl, pretty, all eyes, sat with Shelly, opposite Bella, and beamed.

"You're friends of Edward's? It's lovely to meet you. I'm Tansy."


End file.
